by Lee Driver
“Like what?” Edie demanded.
Mince peered at her over the rim of his beer can and announced, “We still got the body.”
“What the hell are you doing out of the hospital?”
Padre walked into the living room holding his arm against his chest. “I told you. Insurance companies are turning hospitals into drive-thrus.”
“Here, have a seat.” Dagger offered to help him to the sofa but Padre refused.
“Quit fussin’. You remind me of my wife.” A gauze bandage could be seen at the nape of his opened shirt collar. The old scar on his cheek was healing nicely though his face was shallow from a loss of weight.
“I’m surprised you have so much color.”
“Liar. I’m as pasty as a dead carp. But at least the bullet missed all vital organs. Once I got the water out of my lungs, I was practically back to normal.”
Padre caught sight of Einstein under the shower in the aviary. Peering up toward the catwalk, he asked, “Where’s Sara?”
“Why is it everyone asks where Sara is? What is it with you guys?”
“What? You think we want to look at your ugly puss?” Padre laughed and then studied Dagger’s face. “How are your ribs?”
“Getting better.” Dagger lifted the lid on the box and showed Padre the earring.
“Damn, it sure looks pretty in pink.” Padre sat down on the edge of the couch and examined the gem while Dagger explained what they had learned from J.C. Kinnicutt. “Four hundred million?” Padre whistled.
“Somewhere out there is the other earring and the necklace.”
“Was she wearing the necklace the night she was murdered?”
“No.” Dagger thought back to the night at the Dunes Resort. Sara had only mentioned the earrings. The necklace wasn’t something she would have missed.
Padre smiled. “Busy tonight?”
Sara looked around at the crowded tables at the Seaside Cabana, a cocktail lounge in the Driftwood Hotel. She could make out dark shadows moving restlessly behind tables and booths in darkly lit corners.
A waitress in blue shorts, white halter top, and sailor’s cap stopped by the table and gave Nick an approving stare, her eyes layered in heavy lashes that seemed too long to be real. He smiled back and ordered a beer for himself and a glass of wine for Sara.
She gave Sara a casual glance and asked, “Do you have some I.D., Hon?”
“She’s okay. Trust me,” Nick said, smiling his patented Tyler smile. The waitress smiled back and offered no resistance.
The room smelled of stale smoke and a variety of perfumes and aftershaves. A large fish tank bubbled behind Sara, and she turned to admire the colorful species darting from one side of the tank to the other.
With her elbows propped on the table, Sara began to chew on the knuckle of her index finger. She should have just eaten dinner and gone home. She didn’t want to stop for a drink with Nick but she thought she might get more information. Now she felt trapped, a peculiar sensation spreading over her body. She could feel eyes on her. Her knuckle stung, cracked open, and started to bleed.
“You okay?” Nick grabbed her hand. “I didn’t think that salad would fill you up.” He dipped a cocktail napkin in a glass of water and dabbed at the cut.
Glancing quickly around the room, Sara could see every female in the place had her eyes on Nick. Anyone who could read a magazine or newspaper at some time in his or her life had seen his photo in ads or in the society pages. Nick turned and flashed his dimpled smile at a table of young women who had been staring for the past ten minutes. His tan looked rich and caramel-colored against his stark white shirt.
“How are things at home?”
Nick said, “A little strained. Ever since…well, you know.” A strand of blonde hair drifted down his forehead. Even a hair out of place didn’t deter from his looks. He resembled a cross between Brat Pitt and a young Robert Redford.
“Is there a problem here?” The waitress’ lashes fluttered as she placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Oh my.” She stared at the bleeding callous protruding from Sara’s knuckle. “I’ll see if I can find a bandage.”
Once she left, Sara asked, “You seem especially bothered by the news about Rachel.” She stared at the beer, and how quickly Nick had downed it. “I would guess that your stepmother’s disappearance five years ago has bothered you more than you let on. Want to tell me about it?”
The waitress returned with a bandage and an antiseptic wipe. She smiled at Nick and said, “Guess you’ll have to kiss it and make it all better.”
“Owww.” Sara winced as the alcohol touched raw skin.
“That’s okay. I’m blowing on it.” He held her hand close and blew on the exposed area. Once he placed the bandage on, he examined her other knuckles closely. “My shrink would say you have a very nervous habit. Most people bite their nails.” He held onto her hand longer than needed.
She slowly pulled it from his grasp and studied those annoying bumps. “I guess habits are hard to break.” She slipped her long hair back behind her shoulder and sat up straight, as if some etiquette school matron had just slapped a ruler against the back of her chair. The women in the room would probably die if they knew she would rather be curled up on her couch in one of her sack dresses and a good book than properly attired in a cap-sleeve loose-knit sweater and skirt, sitting across from the most eligible bachelor in probably the entire Midwest.
“When did you start seeing a therapist? Five years ago?”
Nick stared at her through the dark glass of his bottle. “You’ve been hanging around a private detective too long. Might be dangerous to your health. You be careful.”
Sara wasn’t sure if that was a threat. The words may have seemed like it, but his eyes didn’t. She wondered if maybe Nick were warning her against someone else.
She tried a different approach. “Do you think your brother had anything to do with Rachel’s disappearance?”
“No, oh no.” His mind seemed to drift, blinking back the memories. “No, there’s only one person at fault, Sara.” He took another long pull from his beer bottle, completely forgetting the waitress had brought him a glass.
Sara felt sorry for him. Nick knew something. And what about Eric? Two siblings afraid that a young wife would take their inheritance? Sara doubted it. At least she didn’t believe it of Nick.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Nick tapped a metal object on the table. It was a room key for the Driftwood Hotel.
Sara stared at the room key. “I, uh…” Caught off guard, her face flushed, but more from anger than embarrassment. “A little presumptuous of you.”
Puzzled, Nick looked at the key and shrugged. “Not at all. I just need a peaceful night away from the zoo every now and then.” He flashed that movie star smile again. “Besides, according to Sheila, Dagger is pretty protective of you and he’s the last person I would want to tangle with.”
Sara stared at the key. Maybe, since Nick had already been plied with liquor, he might open up more if she agreed to help him to his room.
“Okay, Nick.” Her voice was a whisper, her eyes innocent. “Let me help you to your room.”
CHAPTER 32
“You sure you’re up to this?” Dagger pulled his truck to a stop and killed the lights.
“Never felt better,” Padre grinned. “Just don’t walk too fast.”
Fog snaked its way from the forest preserve behind them, crept through the underbrush, and curled around their feet. They made their way down the road toward the lake and stood in front of the townhouse where Rachel had died. The moon played tag with a sky full of clouds.
Dagger turned on his flashlight, throwing a wide beam on the shoreline. They ambled side-by-side down the beachfront. “Let’s think about this. Rachel never lets on to anyone that she regained her memory. She returns to Cedar Point to…do what?”
The beam caught a wave as it drifted toward them, lapping onto the sand, and depositing a stream of foam. Dagger stopped and watched as
the wave lazily retreated. The air had a damp chill to it and off in the distance lightning lit up the clouds.
“She probably wanted to tell her husband she was alive,” Padre offered.
“True. And she called him first. Records show the call came from a pay phone at the truck stop off Exit 4 on the toll road.”
“And she probably wanted to get the jewelry from where she had hidden it.”
The two men continued their search of the shoreline in silence. They were searching for the other earring Rachel had worn the night she died.
“How much time did you say elapsed between the time the murder was reported and you came down to the townhouse?”
“Ten minutes.”
Padre thought for a moment. “Doesn’t seem like enough time to move the body and replace the rug. She had to have been wrapped in the rug and dumped in the lake.”
“I’m not about ready to have Sergeant Duranski call out his divers.”
They found a bench and Padre sank down onto it. “Let me just rest a minute.” Dagger joined him and the two sat and listened to the thunder rumbling off in the distance.
They had been walking east, away from the Dunes Resort since Dagger figured the killers, if they were to dump the body, would want to do it away from the prying eyes of the resort patrons.
“You know,” Dagger started, leaning back, arms stretched across the back of the bench, “this is just too long of a walk for those guys to carry the body away from curious eyes and be gone before I got down here. Are you sure you didn’t find a fresh grave anywhere?”
Padre scoffed and massaged his chest where the wound was still tender. “If the shoreline is too close to the Dunes Resort, I would think the surrounding woods would be, too.”
“Well, the only other option is they never moved the body.”
Thunder rumbled softly, then gradually grew as the winds carried the sound eastward. The two men pondered the possibility and slowly turned toward each other, their minds on the same wave length.
The two men climbed the stairs to the townhouse where Rachel had died. Padre said, “When I stopped by, the washers and dryers were being installed. But the desk clerk said the units might not be occupied until the middle of August.”
They made their way around to the back of the townhouses. The beam from the flashlight rested on the back door.
“Here, hold this.” Dagger handed Padre the flashlight and fished around in his pocket for his lock pick.
“I’m not seeing you do this, you understand.”
“You don’t see a thing, Padre. You were never here.” He heard the tumblers click and turned the knob.
“This is really stupid, Dagger. Don’t you think the delivery men would have smelled a dead body in this heat?”
“Maybe there’s a crawl space and the killers did a John Wayne Gacy number on her.”
Except for the décor, each of the units was identical, until they reached the third unit.
“Damn, look at the size of this living room.” Dagger flashed the beam across a large fireplace, entertainment center, and wet bar. The kitchen was the size of one you might find in a downtown restaurant.
Padre snapped his fingers. “I remember. The desk clerk said each building had a hospitality room, one unit that would be shared by all and could be reserved for private parties. Look, it even has a pool table.”
Dagger walked down an aisle past the laundry room to a storage room. “Well, here’s something the other units didn’t have.” He pointed to a walk-in freezer.
Padre pulled out his handkerchief and carefully flipped on the light switch. “The refrigerators in the other units weren’t plugged in, yet this baby is humming to beat the band.”
The room contained empty stainless steel shelves and probably served as a pantry. The floor was covered in stark white tile and the two men checked for blood or any other signs of foul play.
“You ready?” Padre asked, his fingers itching to open the freezer.
Dagger smiled. “Let’s do it.” The freezer door had been padlocked. Dagger used Padre’s handkerchief to hold the lock while working the pick through the tumblers. Once it snapped free, he grabbed the large freezer handle, pulled it down, and yanked the door open.
A plume of frosty air billowed through the doorway as if seeking warmth. But it didn’t block their view of the body lying on a wooden crate. Her dress was stained red, her blonde hair flowing around her head.
“Wow.” The word escaped Padre’s throat like crinkled foil. “I guess your client wasn’t imagining it.”
Her beauty was frozen in time, her blue eyes locked open in childlike wonder, and her skin tinged in blue. Rachel Tyler was no longer a missing person.
Dagger unfastened the matching earring from Rachel’s ear and turned it over. “Now we found the second earring to the collection. All we need is the necklace.”
Sara sat on a chair in Nick’s hotel room and watched Nick finish his drink and struggle out of his shirt. He fell across the bed giggling, flung the shirt down on the floor. Crawling across the bed, he anchored himself against the headboard. Smiling at Sara, he patted the bedside next to him.
“I don’t bite.” He blinked lazily, his eyes glazed, speech slurred.
A hotel room in Tyler lingo was a one-bedroom suite on the top floor with a spiral staircase leading up to a loft. The air conditioning purred, drowning out the sound of the light rain pelting the windows.
“Why do you blame yourself, Nick?” Sara was attempting to continue the conversation Nick tried to avoid in the cocktail lounge. She watched his eyes search the room as if he were getting his bearings. She tried another approach. “Did the therapist help?”
Nick laughed. “Sucker cost Dad a hundred bucks a half hour. She wanted to, he changed his voice to a high falsetto, ‘fixate on my obsession about my mother and how it might affect my sexual orientation’.” A giggle erupted and Nick rubbed his hands over his face, inhaled long and deep. “The minute she heard I had done some modeling, she thought I was gay.”
“So, you never did tell her about Rachel.”
Nick shook his head. “Couldn’t. No. I didn’t want to remember.”
“What about hypnosis?”
“Didn’t want it.”
Sara moved to the bed and sat facing Nick. “Know what I think? I think you didn’t need hypnosis to remember.” She brushed his damp hair from his forehead. “I think that night, or at least parts of it, are so clear you are trying to make them as buried as the parts you don’t remember.”
Nick grabbed her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “God, you are beautiful.”
Sara slowly pulled her hand away and clasped his between her two hands. His skin was warm, the hair on his arms blonde against his tanned skin. She watched his lids become heavier and close.
Unexpectedly Nick whispered, “God, she was beautiful.”
“She?” Sara asked. “Rachel?”
“I couldn’t believe it when I saw her there. She looked like she was asleep, lying on the floor.” Nick closed his eyes tightly, pressed his fingers to the corners of his eyes.
Sara thought she saw tears and when he opened his eyes, she saw that they were red.
“I thought I must have done it. I was lying on the couch, actually,” he giggled again, “fell off of it. I had been to a party and had a few too many brownies.” More giggles erupted. “But then I felt the blood on the back of her head when I tried to help her up. She wouldn’t move.”
Sara felt Nick’s hand tremble and heard his voice crack, the tears coming to the surface. She turned and sat next to him, tried to put her arm around him. Nick scooted down on the bed and wrapped his arms around her, his head on her chest. She tentatively touched his back, not quite sure what his intentions were. But she felt his body shudder and only when she heard the stifled whimpers did she realize he was crying.
She cradled him in her arms, tears coming to her own. Whatever Nick thought he did that night, he was incapable of rem
oving Rachel’s body on his own. But why should there have been a body? The crew members said she was on the boat.
“Nick?” She stroked the back of his head and waited for the trembling to stop. “Nick? According to your father, Rachel disappeared off the yacht. How could she have been dead on the living room floor?”
“No,” Nick mumbled against her blouse. “Dad paid them off to say that. The next morning I was lying on the grass by the pier, my clothes all wet. I must have carried Rachel’s body down to the water, probably weighted it down.”
Sara thought for a moment. She gathered her hair with one hand to pull it out of the way and went back to stroking Nick’s head. Dagger had shown the picture to Pete, one of the crew members. He recognized Rachel’s picture and had claimed to have partied all night with Rachel. Someone was lying.
“Think back, Nick. I know everything is fuzzy but somehow, in your condition, I doubt you could have carried Rachel’s body out of the house and all the way down to the pier on your own. And just the fact that she just showed up again proves that she didn’t die the first time.”
“That’s a lie. Dagger is wrong.”
“I don’t think so.” She wanted to tell him she was the one who saw Rachel that night, that she knew absolutely sure Rachel had been alive. Instead she said, “Maybe what you think you might have dreamed was real and what was real might have been a dream. It’s just a matter of sorting it all out in your head.” He was silent. Sara could feel his body relax, his breathing slow and even. Was he asleep? Did he not hear a word she said?
Slowly Nick sat up, raked a hand through his hair, and stared intently straight ahead. He had the strangest look on his face, eyes suddenly clear.
“There was something else.” His head twitched, as though the mind was trying to cast off stray cobwebs. “Rachel did talk to me. I remember she bent over me on the couch, kissed me on the forehead and said ‘sweet dreams’. I found that so strange because I remember looking over and also seeing her still lying on the floor.”